


you committed, i'm your crime

by makinggold



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Cop!Brienne, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Halloween adjacent, Pod is the goodest boy, drunk!Jaime is a thirsty bitch, gratuitous use of canon as mythology to suit my needs, police captain Catelyn Stark ftw, warning: bad jokes and innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makinggold/pseuds/makinggold
Summary: “I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from touching me,” she said in her Cop Voice. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on her purpose here with the prolonged physical contact.“Is that an order?” he asked, accompanied by what Brienne assumed he meant as a wink but looked more like rapid blinking. ‘Drunk’ and ‘coordination’ were two words that were not compatible. “What will you do if I don’t stop? Will you cuff me and manhandle me into your car?”(wherein Jaime is a horny drunk and Brienne did not sign up for this shit)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 50
Kudos: 199





	you committed, i'm your crime

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: professional thots
> 
> there's a few unnamed cameos in here that i didn't tag, but we'll get to revisit a couple of them later.
> 
> thanks to the amazing danie (thebothsandneithers) for helping me with this story from the conception of the idea. you the realest, boo. <3
> 
> thanks again to danie for bullying me into working on a series of follow-up one-shots.

The music was so loud that Brienne could feel it in her bones.

She loved jazz, an appreciation she’d picked up from her father, but right now it was grating on her nerves. Everything at this dumb party was grating on her nerves – the lights from the many chandeliers, the low, constant hum of chatter, the loud colors people had adorned themselves in.

This was not at all where she wanted to be tonight. While everyone else had received legitimate assignments, she got stuck babysitting at a charity fundraiser for aristocratic assholes.

She would take mindless patrol duty over this any day.

A tall man with red hair caught her eye and very obviously settled his gaze on her chest.

Scratch that, she would take being shot at over this.

The worst part was that it was a costume party. She had lost count of how many drunken revelers had approached and commented on her “authentic uniform.”

She was going to kill Catelyn for sending her here.

“I’m sorry, Officer Tarth,” she had said, “but everyone except Bronn has already been assigned for the night and you know as well as I that it would be a PR disaster if he went.”

She had a point, but Brienne didn’t have to be happy about it.

“You can take whichever rookie you want.”

It was a consolation prize if she’d ever heard one. She’d make full use of it, though. “Fine, I’ll take Payne.” He was the most well-behaved out of the lot – eager to learn but not overbearing – and he took instruction well. If she had to suffer, she might as well squeeze a lesson out of it.

Which is why she found herself standing on the outskirts of a party in a hotel ballroom that she had no interest in attending, explaining to Pod just why in the seven hells they had to be there.

“These are all very prominent people in the business world of King’s Landing and while they do hire private security,” she pointed at the other outliers sporting expensive-looking suits, “us being here helps them to cover their ass more. I doubt we’ll see any action beyond a case of D&D, but when someone like Tywin Lannister requests police presence at his pretentious party, we show up.”

Pod was listening with rapt attention, nodding along as she talked. His fingers fidgeted like he was itching to write it all down. She knew he kept a little notebook on him and religiously referred to it like every question was a test.

Her eyes scanned the expanse of the room – the various banquet tables off to the left, the spacious dancefloor in the middle, the buffet of hors d'oeuvres to the right. The extravagance of it all unsettled her stomach. It was just like wealthy people to spend as much on the fundraiser as the actual donations.

Brienne would bet her meager savings account that the real reason they were requisitioned was to keep unwelcome guests from enjoying the open bar and eventual five-course meal.

She leaned closer to Pod and said in a low voice, “Waste of taxpayer money, if you ask me.”

He stifled a laugh like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to react to her statement.

She was reminded of why he was her favorite.

They remained there in a mix of comfortable silence and casual conversation until two young and buxom women dressed as (what Brienne assumed were supposed to be) sexy cats sidled up to Pod. “Hey handsome,” the blonde one purred. “Wanna get a drink with us?” The brunette asked, while her eyes posed a different question entirely.

He immediately turned a bright shade of cherry red and eloquently said, “Um.” Then he seemed to remember himself and with the saddest kicked-puppy look Brienne had ever seen, he answered, “I’m sorry, I’m on duty. I can’t drink.”

“Water’s a drink,” the blonde challenged, an appreciative gleam in her eye as she looked him over from head to toe. “And so are you.” It was said under her breath but all parties present had heard it.

He shot a helpless and pleading glance to Brienne and she rolled her eyes while nodding towards the refreshment table. “Go on. Just don’t be too long.” There wasn’t much to do, anyway, she could keep an eye on everything just fine.

His face lit up, an expression of pure joy plastered on his features as he replied, “I won’t!” The two women were already dragging him off, one on each arm. At least _somebody_ would enjoy themselves tonight.

If Brienne had thought the party was bad before, she should have known it would be worse when she was left alone. The time seemed to drag on forever without the distraction of quizzing Pod on safety procedures.

Nothing exciting was happening and she fought hard to stifle a yawn. She couldn’t be seen falling asleep, so she decided to talk a walk around the perimeter of the room, stretching her legs and shaking herself awake.

She followed a path along the wall, keeping her eyes trained on her steps, desperately trying to blend in despite her stature and uniform.

Looking up at a sudden commotion, she saw a very drunk man in the center of a fairly large crowd which was huddled around the drink station. “Shots!” he demanded loudly, leading a chant amongst his groupies.

There wasn’t anything particularly bad about their merriment, but Brienne guessed Tywin wasn’t the kind of person to tolerate juvenile displays such as this at his very prestigious party. (Plus the poor young man behind the bar top reminded her of Pod and she couldn’t leave him to fend for himself.)

Inching closer towards the scene, she finally caught a good look at the instigator who appeared to be none other than Jaime Lannister, Tywin’s heir apparent and the city’s golden boy.

Brienne had to pause for a moment when she saw what he was wearing. A near exact replica of Goldenhand’s suit of armor covered his frame, down to the shining prosthetic on his right hand. He even had a lifelike representation of Oathkeeper in a scabbard, the lion head pommel visible from the short distance.

His costume was breathtaking, to say the least. Brienne had grown up on tales of Goldenhand, dragging her family to the museum whenever the exhibit was back in rotation. She had stared at the set of armor behind its glass case, studying the whorls and curves and patterns etched into the metal. The suit in front of her shared the same attention to detail. It must have cost a fortune.

She was so busy admiring the outfit that the man wearing it finally noticed her frozen in place, hovering outside his council of drunkards. “It appears we’ve caught the attention of the authorities,” he said to the group at large and when they turned to look at her, most of them scattered.

Well. That took care of the majority of the problem.

The bartender flashed her a smile of gratitude, left only to tend to a short brunette – a situation he seemed much more content with.

Now she just had to deal with the knight whose roaming eyes travelled the length of her body more than once before settling on her face. She felt on display, exposed. She wanted to hide from his piercing gaze.

While she had always thought of herself as plain and homely, he was the picture of absolute beauty – the Warrior incarnate. The problem was that he knew it. His green eyes shone like the emeralds they were and he raised a brow at her approach.

“Why, Officer,” he dramatically paused to lean in and read her name badge, “Tarth, your eyes are an _arresting_ shade of blue. Just how do you walk around freely, _assaulting_ people with those? It should be _illegal_.”

Cop jokes. Hilarious. He seemed pleased with himself, but he also seemed like he might tip over at the slightest of breezes.

Brienne took a step closer, preparing to corral him into submission. She’d spent enough time rounding up occupants for the drunk tank in her rookie years, she was used to dealing with the inebriated public. “Okay, sir, I think–”

“Sir? I’m no sir, I can assure you. Call me Jaime.” He gave a rather sultry smile; one she was sure had preluded the dropping of various panties over the years.

The bastard had charm and knew how to use it, damn him. But she wouldn’t be manipulated by a pretty face and gold-plated smile. She was a woman on a mission and she would carry it out to completion. She had worked hard to be taken seriously at her job.

“Alright, _Jaime_. Let’s get you some water.”

He paused a moment in contemplation. “I’m fine, thanks. But what you _can_ do is escort me up to my room. I may need help taking all of this off. Hard to find a good squire these days, don’t you think?”

Heat began to blossom in her cheeks, gods help her. She fought the blush and won. Point: Brienne. “Sorry, I’ve only been tasked with keeping the peace. Something which you seem to have stolen.”

“ _Stolen?_ Oh boy, am I in trouble? Are you going to arrest me?” He held both hands out in supposition. “Take me, Officer Tarth. I’ve been a _very_ naughty boy.” He purposefully imbued every statement with innuendo, but he wouldn’t get a rise out of her. She was a professional and she would act like it.

Ignoring his antics, she said, “I’m not going to arrest you. Now if you’ve quite finished, I should be going.” She was halfway turned when his voice halted her in her steps.

“Are you sure you don’t want a closer inspection of the armor? You seemed pretty fascinated by it earlier.”

_Shit._

She faced him once more, steeling her resolve and praying to the Seven that her countenance was one of indifference. “Oh, I much prefer the Blue Knight, but thank you.”

His smug expression changed into one of surprise, mouth agape.

It felt good to be the cause of that, to have the upper hand.

“Not many people know about them,” he said, something like awe in his voice.

“And those that do usually assign a male gender.”

At that he smiled, the first genuine one of the night. “Well, there are theories based off evidence that the knight may be a woman. It wouldn’t be fair to attribute her accomplishments to a man if that is truly the case.”

Brienne had always liked to believe they were a woman. The Blue Knight had been heralded as the protector of women – their tales included rescuing kidnapped sisters and preventing barmaids from being assaulted; stopping the wedding of a young girl to an old man and helping an expectant mother escape her abusive husband. They were a paragon of justice for the overlooked. They fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. The Blue Knight was one of the major factors which prompted Brienne to join the academy, if she was being honest.

To hear someone else revere them as much as she did was a welcome topic of conversation. She started to feel something other than disdain and annoyance for Jaime. Maybe he was more than a trust fund and an empire he hadn’t built for himself. Maybe she’d found a Lannister who had real depth. Maybe–

“If it _was_ a woman, though, she had small tits based off the breastplate.” His laugh turned into a hiccup and then a burp.

And the bubble was popped. She wanted to permanently erase any good thoughts she’d had about him.

He kept at it, though, apparently wishing to dig the hole deeper. “Speaking of, it would fit you just perfectly, wouldn’t it? You should have a replica made for yourself, I can give you the contact for the person who crafted mine.” His eyes traversed her body once more, this time stopping at her arms. He shot out a hand and gripped her bicep like a vice. “Gods, you’re strong. I bet you could pick me up and throw me across the room, couldn’t you?” he asked, a hint of wonder seeping through.

That train of thought derailed at ‘pick me up’ and arrived at ‘hold me against a wall’ and that was dangerous territory to be in. Brienne tried to swat at his hand but he didn’t budge, still staring at her in awe.

“I’m going to have to ask you to refrain from touching me,” she said in her Cop Voice. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on her purpose here with the prolonged physical contact.

“Is that an order?” he asked, accompanied by what Brienne assumed he meant as a wink but looked more like rapid blinking. ‘Drunk’ and ‘coordination’ were two words that were not compatible. “What will you do if I don’t stop? Will you cuff me and manhandle me into your car?” He finally let go of her arm and instead reached toward her cuffs which were hanging at her hip. She easily side-stepped his advance, the advantage of academy training and sobriety on her side.

She was tempted to do what he suggested to recompense the downright illegal leer he was directing at her now. It was doing something to her brain – and other parts of her body – and her control was slipping with every passing second.

“Please keep your hands off my equipment, as well,” she forced out, voice surprisingly stern and not in the least bit shaky.

He pouted, an expression which would have appeared childish and petulant on anyone else but he somehow made it work. “You’re no fun.” He stepped closer to her, invading her space and bringing the stench of alcohol with him as he leaned in to whisper, “I’ll let you put your hands on _my_ equipment.”

Brienne was in shock, frozen between wanting to knock him out cold and jump his bones when he suddenly grabbed at his stomach, retreated two steps, and proceeded to vomit all over her shoes.

Catelyn owed her big time.

*

“Tarth!” Jon called from across the bullpen, carrying an enormous bouquet of vibrant blue hydrangeas. “Delivery for you!” he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just forced every pair of eyes in her direction. The bastard. He set them on her desk with a flourish and she just barely refrained from beating him with the blooms.

“Not funny, Snow, who are they really for?”

“You,” he said, that earnest look on his face. He pointed to a small, white envelope sticking out of the middle of the bunch.

_To: Officer Tarth_ , it read in a sweeping script.

She gaped at it, eyes flicking back and forth between her name and the flowers.

Jon spoke up, breaking her trance. “Well, are you gonna open it?” He pointed to the envelope.

“Y-yes.” She was nervous this was another prank, that any minute Hunt would pop out from around a corner and yell “Gotcha” or something equally humiliating.

She slowly peeled the flap open and carefully slid out the note with all the care and caution of someone dismantling a bomb. She read it. Glanced at the flowers. Read it again.

“What’s it say?” Jon asked, leaning closer to get a look.

She quickly slapped it against her body where no one else would be able to see what was written on the single notecard. “It says, ‘Jon Snow needs to mind his own fucking business.’”

He appeared contrite and sulked back to his desk.

She hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, but she was not ready to explain the contents of the note to anyone else.

Her eyes flew to it again after she checked the vicinity, a moth to the flame.

_My deepest apologies for my behavior last night. I’m afraid I made quite the fool of myself in your presence. Allow me another chance? I have a table for 8pm tonight at Riverrun. Join me?_

_P.S. I couldn’t find any flower that captured the exact shade of your eyes so these will have to do._

_JL_

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: blue hydrangeas symbolize an apology. also, they're just really pretty.


End file.
